


Hydrogen

by zorac



Series: Chemistry [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Canon Disabled Character, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorac/pseuds/zorac
Summary: Victoria relates the story of her summer romance to Kate and Chloe, and the three continue to build friendships.Sequel toOxygen.





	1. The Place of the Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has it's genesis in a few lines in _Oxygen_ which, for some reason, I felt compelled to expand on. With Kate narrating the framing story, rest assured that this series remains – at least for now – smut-free.

I stood by the car, a little nervous at first – this would be my first time alone with my former tormentor. No matter how confident I was that Victoria had changed, there was still a part of me that was expecting her old, mean behavior. The window next to me slid down, breaking me out of my reverie.

“Come on, Kate, get in. I won’t bite.” Seeing my hesitation, she continued, “or we can take the bus if that would make you more comfortable.”

That did it. The idea that Victoria Chase would even _consider_ using public transportation for my benefit was enough to convince me that it was safe. “Sorry,” I said as I opened the door and sunk into the plush leather seat.

“That’s okay; I’m not expecting to earn your trust overnight.” She put the car into drive, and we pulled smoothly out of the parking lot.

I smiled at her. “You certainly know all the right things to say now. Max is a lucky girl.”

“Not as lucky as I am.”

“I think I may be a little bit jealous!”

“Of me, or of Max?”

“Both,” I admitted.

“Well, I’m afraid we’re taken,” Victoria teased, “and while you are really cute, I’m afraid that whole ‘abstinence’ thing is a deal-breaker for me.”

“You and your sinful ways,” I said with a big, fake sigh. “I’ll pray for you both.”

Victoria snorted, “don’t worry, we haven’t done anything worth praying over… yet.” Then she suddenly turned serious. “Look, I know that ‘getting off on the wrong foot’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, but I like to think that I’ve changed since last year. If you would be willing to consider me a friend, then I would really like that.”

“You _have_ changed,” I replied. “I think I’m seeing the real Victoria instead of her bitchy persona – and she’s somebody I’d very much like to have as a friend.”

“Thank-you, that means a lot. Plus, I think we’re going to be a shoe-in for ‘most unlikely friendship’ come yearbook time.”

I laughed. “You’re probably right about that.” A few moments later, we pulled up outside the Price house.

“No Max today?” asked Joyce as she let us in.

“No,” replied Victoria, “she’s been overdoing it with the procrastination this week.”

“And you didn’t stay to offer your girlfriend moral support?”

“I love Maxine, but not enough to be in the same room as her when she’s having an essay crisis.”

Joyce laughed. “Go on through, Chloe’s expecting you.” We headed into her bedroom, said our greetings, and explained Max’s absence.

“Well, that, at least, is something I don’t feel like I’m missing out on,” observed Chloe with a grin. “Speaking of missing out, I haven’t quizzed you about your love life yet, Kate.”

I smiled at her. “That’s going to be a short conversation, or haven’t you heard that I’m president of the abstinence club?”

“Just because you’re not going to have sex with them doesn’t mean you can’t have a boyfriend – or girlfriend. You just need to find someone like you, who’s willing to wait until after marriage.”

“Considering that I’m also the _only_ member of the abstinence club, that might be easier said than done…”

Victoria sniggered at that. “Weren’t you just saying a few minutes ago that you were jealous of Maxine and me?”

“Yes, of the close connection you have, the little bits of physical affection. I like hugs and cuddling as much as the next person, and I can _maybe_ see the appeal of kissing…”

“Wait,” interrupted Chloe, “you’ve never been kissed?”

I shook my head. “No, and I’ve never had the slightest interest in anything more than that. I simply don’t have those desires at all, not for boys _or_ girls.”

“Okay,” said Victoria, “but surely you must have… you know… taken care of yourself?”

“What?” Was she talking about masturbation? I felt the heat rising to my cheeks. “No!” Victoria looked appalled. “I’ve never had those urges,” I explained more gently. “So, you see, it’s not just that I want to wait for marriage, it’s that I don’t think I’d be interested even afterwards. Who’s going to want to date me knowing that?”

“Someone else like you,” replied Chloe to my rhetorical question. “If you _are_ asexual, you’re certainly not the only one; not by a long shot. Sure, your potential dating pool is going to be tiny compared to, say, Victoria’s, but it’s still going to be bigger than mine. Give it time, I’m sure you’ll find someone who wants to snuggle up with you at the end of the day – and nothing more.”

That was something I’d never thought to consider, but not anything I wanted to discuss in further detail right then. “Can we please change the subject to something other than my love-live?” I asked plaintively.

“Sure,” said Chloe. “How about Victoria’s love life?”

“You already know I’m dating Maxine; I’m not sure what else there is to tell you.”

“Is she your first girlfriend?”

“No,” she admitted, “there was this other girl…”

“Come on; details, details… although perhaps not _too_ many details. We don’t want embarrass Kate any further.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“Fine. It happened over the summer, when I spent a few weeks in London…”

* * *

It was my third day in England, and I was finally over the jet-lag enough that I could consider going out in the evening. I’d seen a poster for an open mic night in the window of a pub near my hotel; that seemed like a safe bet, nothing that I was going to care too much about having to leave early if I got tired. The place was pretty busy, so I ended up sat on a stool at the bar, sipping some fancy fruit juice from a bottle.

The first couple of acts were okay, if nothing special, but then a young Indian woman, maybe a couple of years older than me, got up onto the tiny stage carrying a guitar. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I found it impossible to take my eyes off her. To this day, I don’t remember what it was that she sang, only that her voice was as beautiful as she was.

Once her set was done, she headed over towards the bar, with me still staring at her. Except she wasn’t just coming over to the bar, she was coming over to me. I started to panic, mentally preparing an apology for my rudeness. Instead of berating me, however, she simply asked, “so, are you going to buy me a drink or what?”

It took me a moment to compose myself, but a Chase is never at a loss for a quick comeback. “I’d love to, although if you want something alcoholic, I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait another three weeks or so.”

She grinned at me. “I’ll hold you to that. Of course, if you were back home and the wait was three _years_ or so, you’d be out of luck! For now, that’s fine – I like to be at least one thirst-quencher in after singing before I hit the booze.” To the barmaid: “a pint of orange juice and lemonade, please.”

“And another one of these,” I added, depositing my empty bottle on the bar. I turned back to my companion. “I guess my accent gave me away. I’m Victoria, by the way.”

“Sangeeta. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I purred.

That earned me a laugh. “Yes, I could tell. You practically left snail trails all over me with your eyes.” I ducked my head, embarrassed. “And you pinged my gaydar pretty hard.”

That gave me pause. It had been a few years since I’d figured out I was bisexual, but thus far I hadn’t really indulged my lesbian side beyond a few – okay, a lot of – celebrity crushes. I made a snap decision not to pass up this opportunity. “I guess I haven’t got around to calibrating mine yet; or maybe it’s just that watching you up there shorted out my higher brain functions.”

“Smooth! I’m flattered, but I’m not sure I’m _that_ good.”

“Well, you’re certainly that _hot_.” I mentally high-fived myself as I paid for our drinks.

“You’re not going to let me wriggle out of a compliment, are you?” Sangeeta asked with a grin. Then, indicating to where a couple of guys were getting up to leave, “quick, let’s grab that table. Bar stools aren’t exactly the most comfortable place to spend the evening.” A moment later, we sunk into a pair of chairs which looked like they might be older than my grandparents. “Ah, much better. So, whereabouts in the States are you from?”

“I grew up in Seattle, but I’m currently at school in Oregon.”

“Portland?” Clearly Sangeeta’s grasp of American geography was better than mine of British.

“Nope, a small town on the coast called Arcadia Bay. I’m a photographer, or at least I want to be, and Blackwell Academy has fantastic programs for the arts. What about you?”

“I’m a Londoner, born and bred. Currently reading physics up at Oxford.”

“ _The_ Oxford?” Sangeeta nodded. “Wow, I’m feeling a little outclassed.”

She laughed. “Don’t be. Contrary to popular belief, they do let us working-class plebs in. I was lucky enough to have a physics teacher who was an alumnus, and she coached me through it – that’s mostly what gives those public school snobs their advantage.”

“Public school snobs?”

“Sorry, weird British terminology. A ‘public’ school is actually a private one – although I think that term’s mostly used for the really posh ones like Eton. We call the government-run ones state schools.”

“Well, that’s just really confusing.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, Oxford and Cambridge are well known for having a disproportionate number of students from those public schools, despite years of trying to attract more state school kids like me.”

“Well, good on you for beating the system,” I said earnestly.

“Thanks! You want another drink? It’s my round, so you can have something with actual alcohol in.”

Yes, please – surprise me.“ A couple of minutes later, she put aa couple of bottles of cider on the table; one plain, one claiming to be strawberry and lime flavored. ”Are these alcoholic or not?" I asked.

Sangeeta looked momentarily confused. “Oh, right, I forgot. On this side of the pond we don’t have any of that namby-pamby non-alcoholic cider.” I grabbed the fruit bottle and took a sip; it was actually rather pleasant. “So, how long are you over here for? Are you on one of those crazy whirlwind European tours?”

“No, I’m in London for the whole summer. I don’t really see the point of those tours – a different city every two or three days; you might as well be seeing the sights on Google street view. I’d rather take my time to do everything properly, see things off the beaten trail, get to know the city properly. Plus I want to do some _real_ photography.”

Sangeeta nodded at me approvingly. “I like your style. If you fancy having a guide to some of those more out-of-the-way spots, then I’d be happy to oblige.”

“I would like that very much,” I said softly. The smile I got in return filled my stomach with butterflies.

Two or three drinks later, our conversation was interrupted by a highly embarrassing rumble from my stomach. “When did you last eat something?” asked Sangeeta with a laugh.

“Er… lunchtime, I think.”

“Drink up, then. It’s time to introduce you to the great British tradition of the post-pub curry.”

“Indian food?”

“Or, as I like to call it, ‘food’.”

“Right, sorry,” I said, flushing slightly. “It’s not something I’ve ever tried before; we don’t really see it that often back home.”

“Then I’ll be happy to begin your education.” She drained her glass and stood up. “Come on.” A few minutes later, she led me into a fairly nondescript looking restaurant; it was busy, and the majority of the clientele looked to be of Indian descent – both things I decided were good signs. A man I took to be the proprietor came over to greet us.

“Sangeeta, so lovely to see you again!”

“You too, Samar. It’s an emergency – my American friend here has never had proper food before.”

Samar tutted at me. “That will never do, but I’m sure we can remedy it in no time at all.” He led us over to a table and provided us with menus; they were several pages long and had a daunting array of possibilities.

Sangeeta obviously saw my look. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes…?”

“Any particular likes or dislikes? Allergies?”

“None that I can think of.” She nodded, and when Samar returned she rattled off a list of dishes.

“Don’t worry,” she said once he’d retrieved out menus and left, “since it’s your first time, I didn’t order anything too hot.”

“Well, I don’t mind hot food, but I generally prefer to be able to taste what I’m eating.”

“To be fair, most British Indian food is somewhat toned down for a western palate, although there are a few searingly hot curries to be had; mostly eaten by white guys trying to prove what a deplorable excess of testosterone they have.” That made me laugh. A moment later, our drinks arrived, accompanied by poppadoms and a tray of pickles. Sangeeta quickly explained what each one was, and then we tucked in. “Sorry, I didn’t think to check if you were okay with more booze,” she said as she poured her lager into a glass.

“It’s fine. We may have a ridiculously high drinking age back home, but somehow there’s never a shortage of alcohol at Vortex Club parties.”

“Vortex Club?”

“It’s a social club at Blackwell for the rich and popular kids. It’s supposed to be some great tradition, but honestly, these days it’s mostly about throwing the biggest and best parties – and lording it over the students who aren’t members.”

“So, are you rich, or popular? Wait, let me guess. I’m going to say both – two months abroad can’t come cheap, and you don’t strike me as someone who’d be happy in the middle of the pecking order.”

“Guilty on both counts,” I confessed. “My parents run a prestigious art gallery, and both of their families have a bit of old money in them.” Sangeeta raised an eyebrow. “Old by American standards, which I get is probably new money to a European. And, yes, I am the current queen bee of Blackwell – although that only happened after my predecessor up and vanished; bit of a hollow victory really. So, any wild parties at Oxford?”

“Probably, but most of us are just trying to cram a mountain of work into an eight week term. I prefer to leave my partying until the vacations.”

“So, what you’re saying is; you’re a nerd.” Sangeeta very deliberately looked at me over the top of her glasses. “A really hot nerd,” I clarified.

She grinned. “So, riddle me this: just how seriously are you flirting with me?”

That brought me up short. “I… I’m not entirely sure. I mean, I worked out that I’m bi a while back, but I’ve only ever gone for guys before – taking the safe option, I guess. On the other hand, you’re smart, and fun, and talented, and did I mention hot?”

“Maybe once or twice,” Sangeeta confirmed with a smirk. “Well, a holiday romance is the perfect opportunity for you – no need for anyone back home to know about it until you’re ready to come out.”

“And you’d be okay with that?”

“Sure, it’s not like I’m at the point in my life where I’m looking for a long-term relationship. A summer of lust with a hot American girl sounds like just what I need.”

I thought about that for a moment, then took the plunge. “Okay, then. Just, can we take things… not slow, exactly, but not full speed ahead.”

“Of course! It’s not like I’m expecting you to put out on the first date.” At that moment, the rest of our food arrived, and just like that, the subject was changed as Sangeeta eagerly explained what everything was, and encouraged me to try it all.

“So,” said Sangeeta as she walked me slowly back to my hotel, “I’m working late the next few days, so I’m not really going to be able to see you again until the weekend. How’s about I pick you up on Saturday morning and we go out and do something nerdy?”

I laughed. “It’s a date.” We exchanged numbers, and once I put my phone away I unconsciously slipped my hand into hers and we walked like that the rest of the way. “This is me,” I said as we arrived at the hotel. “Thank-you for a wonderful evening.”

“You too. It just needs one last thing.” She pulled me close, and suddenly her lips were on mine. After the tiniest moment of hesitation, I pressed forward, deepening the kiss. “Until Saturday,” Sangeeta said, somewhat breathlessly, as we parted. Then she turned, and sauntered away.


	2. A Secret Vice

“Awww!” said Chloe, “ickle newbie gay Victoria is kind of adorable.”

“She is,” I agreed with a smile, as Victoria blushed.

“I… uh… don’t know how to respond to that. I’m pretty sure that ‘adorable’ is not an adjective that’s been applied to me since I was a baby.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re too busy trying to maintain that ice queen façade of yours,” I told her. “Very few of us get the chance to see the real you.”

There was a brief flash of anger on her face, then it softened. “I think maybe you’re right. And maybe I’ve been trying too hard to make the wrong kind of friends, the kind I would never let see anything _but_ that façade – the kind who aren’t truly friends. For Sangeeta, those walls were never up, so I guess I was… a different person with her. As I’ve gotten closer with Max, and now you guys too, maybe I’ve found some friends I’m comfortable being that person around.”

Chloe smiled at her. “I’m really happy you feel that way about us. It’s nice to have melted the heart of an ice queen.” Victoria glared at her, but I could see the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“And I like you much better as a friend than an enemy,” I told her.

Victoria actually flushed a little, then deflected by continuing her story. “Anyway, as I was about to say…”

* * *

It was around half ten on Saturday morning when I met Sangeeta in the hotel lobby. “So, what nerdy thing do you have planned for us?” I asked her as we headed out.

“Have you ever heard of the Soane museum?”

“Nope.”

“Sir John Soane was an architect, and a collector of art and antiquities. Before he died, back in the 1830s, he got an honest-to-god Act of Parliament passed to have his home preserved as a museum. It’s a fantastic place that’s absolutely jam packed with all sorts of eclectic stuff – including an Egyptian sarcophagus in the basement.”

“Okay, that does sound pretty cool,” I said, excitedly.

She smiled at me. “I’m assuming that you’re going to do the big, obvious things like the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, and the Victoria and Albert Museum by yourself, so I wanted to take you somewhere you might otherwise never have seen.”

The museum lived up to Sangeeta’s recommendation; it was quite unlike any other I’d visited. No spacious, well-lit rooms lined with neatly organized display cabinets, instead it was full of narrow spaces lined with a dizzying array of artifacts. We spent a couple of hours exploring the house from top to bottom before heading back out into the summer sunshine. We picked up some sandwiches from a nearby shop, then found a park bench to sit on and eat them.

We talked about out families and childhoods; topics that, by some unspoken agreement, we’d avoided on that first evening. I told Sangeeta what it was like growing up rich, but with parents who seemed far more interested in their careers than in their only child. “It’s not that they didn’t love me,” I explained, “it’s just that they were always so busy; they never seemed to have much time to spend with me, so they spent money on me instead.”

“Wasn’t that a lonely way to grow up?”

“Yeah, which is probably why I was such an attention whore once I started school, why I was so determined to be…”

“The queen bee?”

“Exactly. I would do whatever it took to get – and keep – my place at the top of the pile.” I sighed. “Lately I’ve started wondering how healthy that obsession is. I worry that I’m becoming nothing more than a bully, ruling through fear rather than love; but I’m not really sure how to stop…”

“Well, you don’t need to do any of that to get _my_ attention,” she told me, illustrating her point with a kiss.

“Thanks, I think I needed that. So, what about you; any ‘old money’ in your family?”

“Not hardly. All of my grandparents came over from India with just what they could carry, but they worked hard to build their lives here. My dad’s family ended up running the local corner shop, and passed it on to my parents when they got married. My granny was pretty shrewd; she insisted on getting a place they could buy rather than rent. By the time I was born, the mortgage was paid off, meaning that Mum and Dad could afford to hire someone to help out in the shop so that one of them could always be at home with me, and with my brothers when they came along.”

“Once we were all in school, my parents were both back in the shop, so we had more money coming in. Whilst we were still working class, I never remember feeling _poor_ , not like some of my friends did. And it was that financial cushion which meant I had the opportunity to go to university. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my parents prouder – or happier – than when I got my Oxford acceptance letter.”

“I can imagine,” I said with a smile. “So, were they accepting when you came out to them? Assuming that you have, of course.”

“Yeah, I told them not long after I figured it out. It didn’t exactly go well at first, but they both came around. My Dad… he’s very traditional; he just told me how disappointed he was in me, and then we barely talked for the best part of a month. Eventually, he came to me and apologized; said that he shouldn’t make his beliefs my problem. He told me that I was his daughter, he loved me, and that was more important than anything else.”

“Aww, that’s actually really sweet.”

“As for Mum, well, the thing you have to understand is that she started planning my wedding while I was still _in utero_ ; and the moment I hit puberty, she started asking when I was going to bring home ‘a nice Indian boy’ – total cliché, I know. When I told her I’m gay, that threw all those plans into disarray. For about a fortnight, she went into mourning for my wedding, then she apparently decided that if what was needed to get me back on track was an Act of Parliament, then that was what she would do. She became an enthusiastic marriage equality campaigner, and started asking when I was going to bring home a nice Indian _girl_.”

I laughed. “I guess I still don’t make the grade, then.”

“I’m afraid not. Besides, you’d have to spend the night in our spare room, and that would rather put a dampener on my plans for you,” she added with an exaggerated wink.

We ended up hanging out in the park all afternoon, soaking up the sun and each other’s company; chatting about everything and nothing. Eventually, the early evening shadows began to lengthen, and we headed off in search of further food. Sangeeta found us another curry house, and once again I happily let her order for both of us. This time she ventured away from the mildest items on the menu, and I found myself enjoying the food all the more. Most of all, I was just happy to be spending time with her. That immediate physical attraction had, I realized, developed into a full-blown crush.

“What?” I asked, snapping out of my thoughts and seeing that she was smirking at me.

“Oh, I’m just reading your mind.”

I quirked an eyebrow at her. “Is that so? What am I thinking, then?”

“You’re trying to decide whether or not I get to see the inside of your hotel room tonight.”

At once, I had visions of Sangeeta slipping out of her clothes, of running my hands over her body, feeling her lips on my… “I was not!” I managed to get out.

She grinned at me. “No, you _weren’t_.”

I tried to glare at her, but I don’t think it was very convincing. “Okay, fine, you’ve put the idea in my head now. I’m just not quite sure I’m ready yet. This was only our second date, after all.”

“Well, this was an all day date, so it probably counts as two…” she trailed off, probably seeing the pleading expression on my face. “I’m sorry, I agreed not to rush things, and here I am, pressuring you.”

I smiled at her. “That’s okay, I am aware of how irresistibly hot I am.” That drew a laugh; I reached out and put my hand on hers. “And believe me, if I had a little more experience with women, I’d probably have invited you up that first night.”

“Okay, okay, consider my ego suitably stroked. I’m sure I can keep my sex drive under control for a little while.”

“And that’s why you don’t need to worry. I’m not sure that I’ll be able to hold _mine_ back for much longer!”

Sangeeta appeared to consider this for a moment. “I’ve got early shifts next week, so I’m not going to want any late nights… I’d like to see you again before then, but how would you feel about an early dinner on Friday?”

“And then retire to my hotel room?”

She nodded. “Is that slow enough for you?”

I smiled. “That sounds perfect. Is it fast enough for you?”

“I think I can wait that long to get into your pants.”

“That might be difficult given that I don’t wear pants.” Sangeeta’s eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. “What? Both times you’ve seen me I’ve been wearing a skirt.” At that, she suddenly burst into laughter. “What?” I demanded again.

“Language differences,” she explained after a few moments. “In British English, ‘pants’ are underwear.” I flushed bright red. “What you call pants, we would call trousers.”

I managed to compose myself. “Well, in that case, I can assure you that I _am_ wearing pants. A fact which you are welcome to check… on Friday.”

“I have a feeling,” she muttered, “that this is going to be a _very_ long week.”

* * *

“Well,” I said, “that shattered one of my illusions.”

Chloe grinned. “So I’m not the only one who likes to imagine that she goes commando?”

Victoria sputtered incoherently for a few moments, before I relented. “Gosh, you’re so easy to tease!”

“Hardly,” she replied acerbically. “I just find the idea of Kate Marsh mentioning _anyone’s_ unmentionables rather distressing.”

“She’s got you there,” said Chloe with a laugh

“Why does everyone always assume I’m such a prude?” I asked with mock affront.

“Do you really need an answer to that?” asked Victoria. I grinned, and shook my head. “As I was about to say…”

* * *

Sangeeta wasn’t wrong about it being a long week. We saw each other once more, dinner and a movie on the Tuesday evening. There were definitely some wandering hands in the back row of the theater that night, and a couple of heavy make out sessions in dark alleys as I walked Sangeeta back to her parents’ house.

Friday afternoon saw me loitering in the shade near the office building where she worked, waiting for her. It had been the hottest day of my vacation so far, and I’d spent much of it in search of places which actually had decent air-con – something I’d simply take for granted back home. When Sangeeta did emerge, she came over to me looking rather frazzled.

“So, change of plan. The air conditioning in there wasn’t working today, and I feel absolutely disgusting. There’s no way I’m going to dinner like this. I could really do with going home to get cleaned up and changed.”

That kind of delay really didn’t appeal to me. “I have a better idea. My hotel room has functional air conditioning, and also a shower – if you don’t mind sharing.” After a moment’s thought, I added, “The room service is pretty good, too.”

A slow smile spread across Sangeeta’s face. “Change of plan. We go straight to your hotel, and don’t leave until Monday morning.” Half an hour later, we crashed into my room. We’d started making out in the elevator, and the moment the door closed behind us we were both shedding clothes on the way to the bathroom….

* * *

“Um,” I said, interrupting Victoria, “does anybody want a drink or something?”

She looked at me strangely for a moment, then realized. “Oh, right. Sorry Kate, I got a bit carried away there.”

Chloe smirked. “I’d love some juice if you don’t mind.”

“I’d quite like some coffee if that’s not too much trouble,” added Victoria.

I smiled at her. “Of course not, I was going to make myself some tea anyway. Anyway, I can tell that Chloe is aching to hear what happened next, so why don’t you tell… that part of the story while I fix the drinks.” With that, I scurried out of the room.

In the kitchen, I found Joyce washing some pans; a delicious smell came wafting up from the oven. “Hi, Kate,” she said, “I’ve made a batch of brownies, they should be ready in a few minutes if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Not at all,” I replied as I put the kettle on, “that’s perfect, actually. Victoria has been telling us the story of her summer romance in London, and she’s just got to the part I’m not really comfortable hearing about.”

Joyce laughed. “In that case, I would welcome your company. Hopefully by the time these are ready it’ll be safe for you to go back in.”

We chatted happily away while I got the drinks sorted. It was good to see Joyce a little more relaxed, her stress a bit further under the surface. It seemed that the three of us spending time with Chloe was having positive knock-on effects for her parents. It felt good to be helping not just my friend, but her family too.

A few minutes later, I knocked on Chloe’s door. “Come in, it’s safe,” called Victoria. I opened the door and took in the tray laden with drinks and brownies. “Thanks, Kate,” she said as she took her coffee, “and thank-you Joyce,” as she snagged a couple of the brownies. I sat down next to Chloe, giving her sips of juice and bite-size bits of brownie while Victoria resumed her tale.

* * *

True to Sangeeta’s word, we didn’t leave the hotel room until Monday, and for the next couple of weeks, our time together was mostly spent in bed. The one exception was my birthday, when she insisted on taking me out for a fancy meal… before taking me back to my room and…

Eventually the novelty wore off enough for us to start doing other things as well. “So,” began Sangeeta after I picked her up from an early shift, “tonight we’re going promming.”

“Promming?”

“The Proms are a series of classical music concerts that runs every summer in the Royal Albert Hall. They’re called the ‘Promenade Concerts’ because there are lots of cheap standing-room-only tickets.”

“Okay, that rings a bell. There’s a famous ‘Last Night of the Proms’, right?”

She nodded, “yes, but that’s _way_ too much hassle to get tickets for. Tonight’s concert will be rather calmer.” We caught the tube down to South Kensington, and went for some tapas before strolling up to the concert hall. True to her word, Sangeeta had standing tickets for us. “Welcome to the mosh pit,” she said as she led me up onto the circular floor.

I sniggered. “Mosh pit?”

“Maybe not,” she replied with a grin, “although I’m pretty sure that tubas count as ‘heavy metal’.”

I groaned. “That was terrible!” Truthfully, it wasn’t remotely like a mosh pit – not crowded at all, and there were even a few people picnicking on the floor. Not really what I was expecting from a classical music concert; somehow I was envisioning men in tuxedos and women in elegant dresses. Maybe that’s just for the opera or the ballet.

When the orchestra walked out with their instruments, sat down and, after a moment, began to play, I was captivated. It wasn’t a type of music that I’d ever really listened to before, having dismissed it in favor of rather more modern musical styles. But now I found it easy to lose myself in the complex melodies and harmonies.

“Thanks for taking me to that,” I told Sangeeta afterwards, as we waited for a taxi, “it’s definitely not something I’d have considered on my own, and I really enjoyed it.”

“Just doing my duty to bring culture to you heathen colonials,” she replied with a laugh.

“Hey! Be careful, or we’ll take your culture and dump it in the same place we dumped your tea!”

She just laughed even harder at that. “To be fair, it’s not the kind of music I listen to that much, but I’ve been making a point of going to a few proms every summer.”

“So… what you’re saying is that the Limey isn’t really any more cultured than the Yank.”

“Touché. Although, seriously, do you guys still call us Limeys?”

“Outside of historical novels? Probably not.”

“That’s what I thought. Anyway, how would you feel about getting out of London for the weekend. I’d really like to show you around Oxford, and I’ve just realized that this will be our last chance. It’s a bank holiday weekend, so I’ve got next Monday off as well, although it does mean that the town will probably be even more overrun with tourists than usual.”

“I’d love that, Oxford is definitely on my to-do list, and I may not get a chance again to see it with such a knowledgeable guide. Do you want me to book a hotel room? I’m guessing we’ll head up on Friday night and come back on Monday.”

“That sounds great. Do you mind if I leave come clothes with you to take so we only need one case?”

“No, that’s fine,” I said as we reached the head of the line and got into the black cab. I gave the driver the name of my hotel, then turned to Sangeeta. “So,” I asked with an innocent expression, “have you ever made out in the back of one of these?” She didn’t reply; at least, not with words.

* * *

“Honestly, Victoria,” I told her, “you’re incorrigible!”

“Oh, come on Kate,” said Chloe, “even you have to admit that making out in the back of a taxi is pretty tame. It’s not like they…” She looked at Victoria. “Although, if you did, I want to hear all about it later.”

“Really, Price?” she replied, indignant, “you need to get your mind out of the gutter…”


	3. The Great Divorce

On Friday evening, I met Sangeeta at Paddington station. The train took as out through the sprawling expanse of greater London, through various other towns, and past what looked like a large music festival. It also took us alongside a more rural section of the river Thames, and through some rolling green countryside. After about an hour, we pulled into Oxford.

“Where are we staying?” asked Sangeeta.

“Some place called ‘The Randolph’.” I replied.

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Trying to impress me?”

“How’d you mean?”

“It’s only the swankiest place in town. Inspector Morse used to hang out in the bar a lot.”

I shrugged. “I was just looking for somewhere that was both nice and central – and I’ve never heard of Inspector Morse.”

Sangeeta sighed. “Sometimes I despair about that parts of British culture that actually make it across the pond. Morse was a famous fictional Oxford-based detective, first in novels and then in a massively successful TV series.”

I shrugged. “To be fair, if one of our networks wanted it, they’d probably move the setting to Cambridge – the one in Massachusetts – and give him a personality transplant and young female sidekick.”

“You make a good point, although the book to TV transition already took care of taking a few decades off Lewis’ age…”

The next morning, we rolled out of bed and into the Ashmolean Museum, mostly on account of it being directly opposite the hotel. Unfortunately, I’d been to so many museums and galleries in London over the previous few weeks, that fatigue was beginning to set in when it came to arts and antiquities. We ended up skimming over the highlights before heading out to explore the town center and some of the colleges.

On Sunday, I insisted that Sangeeta showed me _her_ college. “You’re going to be disappointed,” she muttered.

“You must have chosen it for a reason,” I countered.

“Yeah, the convenient location.” We walked across the town center, then headed outwards. Eventually, she told me “we’re almost there.”

A moment later, a fabulous building came into view behind an expansive lawn off to the right. “Wow,” I said, “not disappointing at all!”

“Indeed. That’s the University Museum,” Sangeeta said, slightly caustically, “Keble is on your left.” I eyed the red brick façade dubiously, but said nothing, not wanting to put my foot further in my mouth. “Come on, it’s more impressive on the inside.” She led me further up the road and through a massive wooden door. A short tunnel brought us onto what I assumed must be the main quad.

I took in the large sunken lawn, and saw that the brickwork was far from plain – it was patterned with pale yellow and dark blue as well. Sure, it might not have the timeless elegance of some of the old sandstone colleges, but it had _character_. I slipped my hand into Sangeeta’s and squeezed it. “Still not disappointed,” I told her.

She looked into my eyes for a moment, then smiled. “Thanks. Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

“So, do you get to live in one of these buildings?”

“Come October, yes. Last year I was in one of the… newer builds – I’ll show you in a bit.” She led me round the quad and into what was obviously a religious building. I gaped at the beautiful and elaborate interior.

“Is there a reason you have such a large church here?”

Sangeeta shrugged. “All the colleges have a chapel, well, except for Christ Church, which has a cathedral. I have to admit, I’ve only been in here once before, for the Christmas carol service.”

We headed back outside, crossed the sunken lawn, then went up some stairs into one of the buildings, and over to a door. I peered though. “Whoah. Add some floating candles, and you could totally be at Hogwarts.”

Sangeeta laughed. “That’s kinda the reaction I was going for. C’mon, I’ll show you something much less exciting.” We went back downstairs and through a corridor into another quad. The buildings here had less patterned brick and a lot more glass.

I gestured at a vaguely circular building. “What on earth is that?”

“The bar.”

“Is there a reason it looks like the bridge of the Enterprise?”

“Many people have asked that question; none have found the answer and lived to tell of it.” I sniggered, and Sangeeta led me round the back and down to a small quad encircled by a glass-fronted building. She pointed up at one of the panes. “That’s the room I had last year.”

“Wasn’t that like living in a fish tank?”

“A little, yeah, but fish don’t usually get to close the blinds at night.” We carried on round, through another quad with the pretty brick-pattern buildings, and back out through the main gate. “While we’re here, we should pop into the museum; the building’s as fabulous on the inside as it is on the outside, and while the main bit is much like the Natural History Museum in London, the Pitt Rivers is a gem rather like the Soane.”

We made our way through the main part of the museum; as Sangeeta had suspected, I was more interested in the architecture than the exhibits – although we did stop to admire a dodo. The bit we were heading for had its entrance hidden away in a back corner and, as promised, housed an eclectic collection of anthropological artifacts. We browsed for an hour or so before my museum fatigue set in again and I begged for release.

* * *

“Begged for release, did you?” Chloe said, waggling her eyebrows.

“…that came out wrong,” muttered Victoria. “We did _not_ get frisky in a museum. Get your mind out of the gutter, Price!”

“Fine, but you’re spoiling all my illusions today.”

“Something for which I am very grateful,” I told her. “I appreciate you keeping things PG-rated for my benefit.”

“Sorry, Kate, I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted… actually, I’m not sure what I wanted.” She looked at Victoria. “Please, carry on.”

* * *

We ambled back round the bottom of Sangeeta’s college and down an alleyway past a truly hideous concrete and glass monstrosity of a building. When I asked what it was, her face darkened.

“The enemy,” she told me. “St. John’s college. They’re the richest in Oxford, and complain bitterly about how ugly Keble’s buildings are, then they had the temerity to build… that!” I may have sniggered a little – which earned me a glare – but soon we were both laughing. “Come on, I’m starving. We should grab some late lunch at the Bird and Baby; it might not be the best pub grub in town, but it’s where Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, _et al_ used to hang out.”

A few minutes later, we were in a pub called the Eagle and Child. “I’m going to miss being able to do this when I get home,” I said, as I ordered our drinks at the bar. I wasn’t looking forward to the long wait until I could legally buy alcohol back in the States.

“Just be grateful you don’t have prohibition any more!” replied Sangeeta with a laugh.

“Yeah, but there are always a few politicians who’d like to bring it back,” I muttered darkly. We headed to a room further back in the pub.

“So, this is where the Inklings used to meet,” Sangeeta told me as we sat down. She went on to explain how the group of writers and academics used to meet there, and how the room would have hosted reading of early drafts of the _Narnia_ and _Lord of the Rings_ books, among others.

The food service wasn’t the speediest, so it was late afternoon before we left. Eschewing further sightseeing, we headed round the corner to a little café to have some ice-cream while we waited for the cocktail bar opposite to open. Having taken full advantage of happy hour, we were both pretty drunk by the time we staggered back to out hotel.

The next day dawned clear, bright, and severely hung over; it took several cups of coffee before we deemed ourselves fit to check out, leaving our bag with the front desk to pick up later. After a pit stop to pick up strawberries, lemonade, and a bottle of something called ‘Pimm’s’, we headed down to the river. Sangeeta had insisted that we couldn’t come to Oxford without going punting, and I had reluctantly agreed.

A punt, it turned out, is the rather less glamorous cousin of the Venetian gondola – and it seemed that Sangeeta expected me to take a turn with the pole. As we queued up, I pointed at a sign advertising ‘Chauffeured Punts’ and asked, “can’t we just do that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that would take all the fun out of it!” A few minutes later, she deftly propelled us away from the dock and up the river. I sat back, relaxed, and mixed myself a drink.

“Either this is easier than it looks, or you’re really good at it,” I remarked; then, as we veered towards the bank, “…or maybe not.”

Sangeeta just laughed as she dragged the pole around to bring us back on track. “It’s not that bad, just takes a little practice, and a lot of concentration.” Nonetheless, she glared at another punt which went flying past at about twice the speed of ours. After quarter of an hour or so, the moment I’d been dreading came. “Right, your turn.”

Nervously, I made my way up to the back of the punt. Sangeeta passed me the pole, and explained how I was supposed to use it. After the first few minutes where I propelled us into one overhanging tree after another, I started to get the hang of things, and for the next hour or so we took turns at the helm. It was on the way back that things took a turn for the worse. I knew I was in trouble when the pole sunk in much further than usual, then was reluctant to come back up. I kept pulling at it, leaning further over the end of the punt.

“Let it go!” advised Sangeeta, but I ignored her, sure that I could stop the punt and pull it back to the pole. Eventually it did stop, leaving me almost horizontal between pole and punt. “Whatever happens,” she said calmly, “don’t swallow any of the water.” I gave the pole one more pull, hoping to get the punt moving backwards; instead, it finally came unstuck. For a moment, I hung there like Wile E Coyote, then I plunged into the river.

* * *

My gales of laughter brought Victoria’s story to a standstill. “It’s not _that_ funny,” she said with a glare when I finally had to stop for air."

“It really is,” said Chloe, laughing too. “Please tell me that Sangeeta caught it on camera.”

“Even if she did, you can be sure that you’re never going to see the video,” she replied acidly.

“Come on, Victoria,” I said, “surely you have to admit that the image of a woman who’s always so elegant and beautiful falling in the river is at least a little bit funny.”

“Fine.” She seemed somewhat mollified by the flattery, and even appeared to be fighting back the beginnings of a smile. “Can I finish my story now?”

* * *

Thankfully, the warm weather meant that I was wearing light clothes which quickly dried out in the sunshine as Sangeeta punted us the rest of the way back to the dock. My hair, however, was another matter; I resigned myself to looking a mess until we got back to my hotel room in London.

“Somehow, I don’t think I feel up to a fine dining experience for lunch.”

Sangeeta grinned. “That’s okay. We’re on the right side of town to visit my favorite burger joint.” She led me over the river and further out of town to a little place that seemed to be decorated as the pop culture branch of the Pitt Rivers museum. The wide array of options on the menu all looked to have names which were movie or TV references.

“Well, this is certainly the nerdiest place I’ve ever eaten,” I told her after we’d ordered. “I just hope that the food’s good too.”

“Trust me. I’m sure it’ll give… what was it? The ‘Two Whales’ a run for their money.” I was still doubtful, but she turned out to be right; it was easily the best burger I had on that side of the Atlantic. Unfortunately, once we were done eating, it was time to head back to London. And with that came the depressing realization that my time there – and my time with Sangeeta – was almost at an end.

It was ten o’clock on Saturday morning when the blaring klaxon of my ‘really don’t ignore this one’ alarm went off. I jerked awake, as did Sangeeta next to me; we’d only had a scant few hours’ sleep after making the most of our last night together.

“Don’t go,” she mumbled.

“Believe me, I’d love stay longer, but I have to go back to school…”

“Stupid full length terms,” came her grumbling response.

“I know,” I replied, giving her a kiss. “I’m going to grab the first shower seeing as I seem slightly more awake than you.” A minute later, she joined me; apparently we had one more ‘last time’ to fit in.

In less than an hour, we were heading out of the hotel, and off to Heathrow. After much prevarication, Sangeeta had decided to come with me and put off our goodbyes for as long as possible. Still, reality was sinking in; on the tube, we simply sat quietly together, holding hands, finally out of things to say.

At the airport, my business class ticket allowed me to bypass the worst of the check-in queue, so we had a little under an hour before I needed to head through security.

“Buy you a coffee?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, with a smile that looked a little forced.

We sat at a table, sipping our drinks. Eventually, I broke the silence. “I’m really going to miss you,” I said, without looking up.

“Me too.” Her hand found mine, and I raised my head. There was a more genuine smile on her face now. “Thanks to you, I had a truly awesome summer. Maybe I’m sad it’s over, but I’m even more glad it happened.”

“Did you just quote Dr Suess at me?”

Sangeeta laughed. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t the first person to say that. Listen, I know we’ve been avoiding talking about this since that first evening together, but whatever this is we have… it was never meant to last. Once the initial passion fades away, I’m not sure what would be left. Sure, we could try and keep it going, but long distance? Oxford to Oregon?”

“There’s pretty much zero chance we could see each other again before next summer,” I admitted. “And then what? We jump into bed for another few weeks and end up right back where we are now.”

“Exactly. Better to quit while we’re ahead. A year is a long time to put your love life on hold at our age.”

I closed my eyes for a few moments. I liked Sangeeta as a friend, and as a lover, but there was never truly a spark of anything more. “Friends, though?” I asked at last.

“I’d like that.”

“Good, and next summer you can introduce me to your nice new Indian girlfriend; someone you can take home to meet your mother.”

“Here’s hoping,” she said with a grin. “and you can tell me all about the new girl you met at school – a shy hipster, or a punk rocker, or…”

I laughed. “You have strange ideas about my taste in women.”

“Clearly you have excellent taste,” she replied, gesturing at herself.

“In women, as in everything else,” I said, putting on a haughty tone.

“Well, hello there, Miss Confident. I can see you’re going to cut a swathe through the ladies of Blackwell!” It was around then that I realized that something had changed in my head. Sangeeta had moved from the box labelled ‘girlfriend’ to the much larger one simply labelled ‘friends’, and I didn’t feel sad about it, not really; it just seemed… right.

“I guess I should go home and find out if you’re right, then.”

I saw the understanding in her eyes. “Before either of us breaks down and goes all mushy.” We both got up, then stood awkwardly for a moment, suddenly unsure of how to interact, before Sangeeta decided it by pulling me into a fierce hug. “Good-bye,” she whispered in my ear, “have a safe trip.”

“Thanks. For everything.” I picked up my bags. “Au revoir.” I turned, and walked briskly through the checkpoint, not daring to look back. Even _my_ self control only goes so far.

* * *

I was surprised to see a tear in the corner of Victoria’s eye. “Hey,” I said, reaching out to take her hand, “it’s okay.” She smiled at me.

“Thanks, Kate. I’m fine, honestly. It’s just… a little bittersweet to remember. But, if my summer hadn’t gone that way, I probably wouldn’t be with Maxine now, most likely I’d still be bullying you,” she turned to Chloe, “and I never would have met you.” She hesitated. “And my life would have been much the poorer for it. So really, it all turned out for the best.”

“That means a lot, Victoria,” said Chloe. “Are you going to see her again next summer, though?”

Victoria grinned, “well, I did sort-of promise Maxine I would take her to Paris. It would be easy to take a side-trip to London.”

“You totally should! We went to Paris the summer before… when I was fifteen. It was _awesome_!”

“I guess that settles it, then! And I’ll have more stories to tell you.”

“No,” said Chloe, “you won’t.”

It took a moment for us to realize what she meant. “Chloe I…”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Yeah, it sucks. It really, _really_ sucks. But pretending we don’t all know what’s coming isn’t going to help. I just want to spend time with my friends without you feeling like you have to tiptoe around me. Don’t start grieving before I’m gone, okay?”

“We hear you, Chloe,” I said.

“Good. So, Victoria, when can I expect you hear about your and _Max_ ’s sexploits?”

I winced. “When I’m not in the room, for starters…”


End file.
